The Queen's service Au!Sans' x Reader {SEQUEL}

Through the eyes of the awake

It wasn't often that you groaned into your pillow—

Now before your thoughts derail, dear reader- it wasn't from any sexual context— it was from a lack of it. You were lonely, Sans hadn't had his way with you for near over a century now, hadn't had his phalanges on you- pressing hard against your hips for the longest time. Papyrus wasn't helping either— not with all the hungry stares he sent you over dinner, the way his tongue glided over his canines slowly just like Sans used to. Like he wanted to bend you over the table right then and there. You frowned, face burnt. That thought wasn't helping in the slightest. You rolled onto your back with a sigh, curling up on your side. You hugged him to you— by him- you meant what was left of Sans. A little glass vial filled to the rim with his dust.

It was the only thing of his you had left. You always slept with it, clutching it to your chest. It was comforting in a way, as if invoking his presence. You clenched your eyes shut- fond thoughts of your lover invading as they always did. Cusping the back of your head gently with his larger phalanges, careful strokes through your hair- his frequent cussing in that deep, dark baritone that you missed sorely, though you'd never admit it. You clasped it tighter, as if it would revive him, the bottle never left your side, kept out of Papyrus' sight. If he knew you'd kept it— you'd be in a world of trouble- a world... that seemed farther away from you as your mind dipped into a dark unconsciousness of dreams upon memories...

—

Sans. Sans...!! Oh god. You had missed this. He cradled you close as he buried himself inside- stretching, pushing, ragged breath heaving against the crook of your neck. "F-Fuck—!! Good wifey..." He chuckled in praise as he continued. You gasped, a collection of groans you had been storing for him and him only the last century suddenly flooding out like- dust. Dust spilled out of your mouth, filling your lungs- you choked dryly, throat alight, horrified before the scene morphed into none other than a distant memory—

"We will destroy it."

"What?!" You whirled on Papyrus who stood behind you, hands clasped behind his back as he stared out into the hall currently being cleaned as per his request. He turned to you, socket raised. "It saddens you, your majesty. We can destroy the hall if you so desire it... it holds nothing for you but death and war." He said sternly, sharp chin held high. It was only a few months after your crowning, the hall untouched till that very day. The floor was being scrubbed with soapy, frigid water, freeing the marble from the dried blood and dirt that caked it so.

"I'm not a child- and I'm certainly not a stranger to death." You folded your arms, turning from him to his entertainment. You watched as someone approached the dust pile with a worn, spindly broom, you yelped before throwing yourself frantically in front of their path, stopping them efficiently enough. Their eyes bulged, terrified. "I-Is everything alright, highness?" They stammered. You glanced desperately at the dust behind you. "Please don't touch it.." you whispered, staring at the pile.

You were about to plead with them further before you were pulled away, your hand thrusting out- desperate in clutching the air between you and the dust. You were whirled behind the colonnade out of sight, Papyrus staring down at you irate. His shoulders tensed, tightly wound before he exhaled slowly, a wave of calm settling as he leashed his anger successfully. "Majesty," He hummed, gaze softening- only slightly. "It regrets me to be the one to say this— to put it blunt: You need to move on from Sans. It's been more than a few months of your mouldering now... your people need a leader- not a spinster. This hall is nothing but a monument of your loss- you don't need to be reminded every time you pass it." He spoke condescendingly as he was tired of the subject, gripping your shoulders firmly.

Your eyes widened, head shaking in refusal as it processed his words. Get over Sans? An impossible feat, you had to admit- you thought it would be peaceful in this new chance of life, no guns- nil mobsters— but you found it anything but, your mind in a constant state of unrest. He gazed at you sympathetically, cautiously cupping your cheeks to calm you, hesitant to stroke them. "Let me do this for you— I don't like seeing you in pain... Why surround yourself with it?" your eyes welled, glassy. Why, why did he have to say that? He was living through what you did. Your last few words to Sans... You turned your head, a refusal to which he sighed at, noting your trembling lip. He straightened, his head glancing over his shoulder. "Seal it." He ordered to no-one in particular, the room quickly being cleared.